Breathe in, Breathe out
by joselinefoxcharter
Summary: Hermione finds solace in books, while Draco finds the same in booze. Little do they know that they're both running from the same thing. This running lands them in the library, late at night; when darkness arrives, where can they run? Explicit Lemons


Winter break was creeping up faster than expected. The Whomping Willow was only just sprouting truly golden and red leaves, and already they littered the grounds. Harvest festivals were lining up left and right, and Halloween was merely days away. For some, that meant the best time of year. For Hermione, it meant keeping her mind busy, lest it wander to the traumatic events of the year prior.

As the eighth year rolled in, and a bit too-quickly for her liking, she had buried herself in books from day one. Since the war, she was one of the few in her house to return, and the loneliness was bifurcated by anxiety. Choosing loneliness over the stress of talking to people meant that she didn't have to have conversations which either avoided the war all together or dwelled on the war far too long.

She preferred the companionship of her books. Well, perhaps Madame Pince wouldn't take kindly to her referring to these Hogwarts' books as her own. Still… Some of her newest and dearest friends were found in the form of memoirs of deceased witches, as well as tomes scribed by anonymous wizards.

"Miss Granger, do follow the curfew guidelines tonight, hmm?" Pince requested, narrowing her eyes, while holding a sly smile.

"Of course… I'll only be a bit longer, I need to check my sources again. I'll put the books back myself." Hermione offered, knowing this bought her a bit more time in the library, since Madame Pince wouldn't need to be setting the books back herself. With a small nod, Pince left Hermione alone, tucked away in the corner.

This table was special to Hermione. Not for any reason other than it was the first table she sat at in her first year attending this school. Since then she'd received good news, bad news, and even a gift at this table. One downside, however, was its proximity to the window. The seasonal weather was wearing on her, since she couldn't yet dress for the cold, and no longer dressed for the heat.

So, she chose layers: her robes covered a thin sweater, with a tanktop beneath that. Her skirt wasn't enough these days, and so knee-high tights were a necessity. With Griffindor colors aplenty, she looked like the true princess of her house.

As the weather seemed fickle, this night it was a bit warmer than expected. Not to worry, though, she merely shrugged off her robes and draped them behind her before diving into the pages of her newest literary find: a diary of some unknown witch and poet.

"I didn't know you had it in you, Granger," a familiar voice chided from the shadows.

"Excuse me?" She offered in her appropriately hushed tone. She peered, trying to see into the darkness.

"Hermione Granger, out after curfew, and all for a book," the familiarly shining platinum locks of hair drew her attention first. As he traipsed over, she barely had time to even close her book before he yanked it from the table to inspect it. "Do Dragons Dare: a diary, sounds boring," He unceremoniously dropped the book onto the table.

In no mood to deal with anyone, much less the likes of Malfoy, Hermione stood, sliding the book off of the table and taking the book back to its home on the shelves.

It wasn't long before she heard the footsteps of Malfoy behind her, maybe seven feet away.

"You know, you don't have to put them away… Or is it just a muggle force of habit?" He was chuckling, while eating something. From the sound of it, it was an apple. She sneered at the thought.

"You really shouldn't eat around books, Malfoy, it's disgusting." She huffed, taking a few turns through the maze of dimly-lit shelves, and finally made to put the book back. With the shelf just out of reach, she had to reach for her wand to levitate it back into place. That's when she realized her robe was still at the table, wand in its pocket.

Feeling suddenly vulnerable, her eyes darted to Malfoy, as if it was somehow his ploy all along.

He was approaching her, noticing she was having some kind of dilemma. With a smirk, he reached for her with his long arms, grabbing something from her. With a wince, she shut her eyes.

The book was pried from her arms, and he replaced it with ease, having nearly a foot over her.

When she opened her eyes, she noticed he had taken a couple steps back and had a look of confusion, or pity?

"What's wrong, Granger?" His voice was genuinely curious, albeit annoyed.

"Nothing," she shook her head and hastily rushed back to her table, feeling a surge of adrenaline coursing through her. Unsure of what her body was telling her, she merely knew that she needed her wand for what was to come.

He didn't seem to follow her back, but that didn't stop to raging floods of panic welling inside of her. Her reclusive nature not only made it hard to speak to her own friends now, much less her enemies—ex-enemies?

Whatever the case may be, she nearly jogged to her robe, slung it on, and gripped her wand tightly in her pocket. Taking a moment to slow her movements, she looked around, eyes erratically darting left and right for wherever the threat may be.

She needed a plan, and her plan was to make it back to her room as quickly as possible without being seen. Lucky for her one of the more useful items given to her last year was Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

She swung it on quickly, having planned to use it to leave the library much later than promised. Under the shroud, wand in hand, she trudged toward the exit. All the while, her heartbeat thudded violently, faster and faster, in her ears. Swallowing seemed impossible, and she couldn't tell where the raspy, rapid breathing was coming from nearby.

Malfoy, having left her to go do… whatever she was doing, had intended on giving her space. He went in the opposite direction, aiming to leave the library without bothering her.

"I guess she's right about eating and reading… It is sort of gross. Touching those books, then eating what you've touched..." He shuddered a bit, then smirked, chucking the apple core into a nearby trashcan, nailing the shot.

With a slight victory dance, he continued on.

This year was different for him. Most of his ex-comrades were locked up, while his truest friends were at his side. He felt lucky, albeit scarred.

There were plenty of people who despised him, and he didn't expect anything less from Granger. They were nearly polar opposites, weren't they? He fought for darkness, while she fought for light. He fought against his will, while she fought for what she thought was right, whole-heartedly.

He retrieved his flask from a pocket, took a swig, and readjusted his attire. In his Slytherin blacks and greens, he sported a button-down dress shirt, impossibly dark green vest, and slacks. His tie was disheveled, and vest hung open. A few buttons about his collar even lay apart. This was not the high-bred Slytherin most people expected. He was, however, a bit tipsy, and didn't give a damn.

Along his stroll out, he finally returned a small book he had borrowed. Tucking it into the shelf, he made for the exit.

He was caught quite off-guard by the sudden proximity of a hauntingly raspy, nearly wheezy breathing just beside him.

Hermione was well on her way out, but froze to locate the specter breathing down her neck. She turned left, then right, then looked above. Nothing. The breathing grew faster and closer, right in her ears. Before she knew it, it felt as if a Dementor was growing near. Her body was growing colder, and a ringing was erupting in her ears. But she saw nothing, nothing but books.

In an effort to protect herself from this unseen threat, she squatted down, holding her knees to her face, hidden beneath the cloak. Her knees were wet now, shocking her. She looked down to see them wet, with more droplets coming. Finding her face pouring tears, she began to come back to reality. She was sobbing. Not only that, but she was hyperventilating, wheezing by now. As the realization set in, it made her panic worsen.

Suddenly Malfoy was in front of her, looking around. She looked up at him, nearly reaching out for him. He didn't see her, or know it was her for that matter. She was becoming shroud in panic, certain of a heart attack or something akin.

"Heh-he-help," she breathed out, staggered.

His eyes darted to the floor, and a severely confused Malfoy reached out slowly, finding a lump of fabric where Hermione's head was. Slowly pulling it away, he revealed the crouching, sobbing witch in a lump on the floor, grasping her knees.

Unable to face him, she shoved her face back into her knees. With the cloak gone, she felt that she could breathe again. With him nearby, she felt like perhaps he'd somehow help her by taking her to the nurse or casting a healing spell. Anything to prevent the imminent heart attack she was about to have.

"He-heart. My h-heart…" She made a motion with her hand, as if to explain that it was going crazy, beating out of her chest.

He was crouching down with her now, avoiding contact with her beyond a few fingertips on her shoulders.

"What do you mean…? Breathe, Granger. With me, breathe…" He began to exaggerate his slow, deep breathing, trying to catch her eyes so she would follow suit.

She couldn't look him in the eye. Instead, she stared at his chin and neck, watching his breaths. She noticed a cluster of beauty marks along his clavicle and focused there. Her breathing slowly just slightly.

"Keep breathing… What happened?" He nearly whispered, daring to cup his palms on her shoulders now in hopes of stilling her trembling form.

"I'm… having a heart-heart attack." She insisted, though as she breathed, the sensations dulled slightly. Fear still brimmed over her façade.

"I… I don't think you are. Keep breathing." He adjusted so he was on his knees before her, thumbs softly rubbing along her shoulders. He began to grow wise about this situation.

"Does it feel like your heart is bursting?" He asked.

Her eyes shot up to his, and her breathing increased, panic rising again. "Yes!"

He nodded, looking around. Surely anyone happening upon this situation would assume he was to blame. "Okay, okay, just breathe, breathe… Did something scare you?"

Her breathing wouldn't be tamed, and she nodded, then began to sob again and shook her head. "I—I don't know… It-it was you!" She nearly shouted, palms against her eyes to stop from sobbing.

He looked taken aback but didn't react beyond that. He nodded, rubbing his hands along her upper arms. "Okay, you don't need to be afraid of me, just… breathe. I've been where you are, Hermione. Breathe."

His voice and words were clear, soft, and slow. He tried to crane in closer so she could hear through her own loud sobs.

"In… and out… Breathe Hermione." He repeated, before gently resting his forehead against her hair.

Something seemed to click, because she followed his lead, slowing her breathing much more this time. She seemed reluctant to stop sobbing, but those quieted too. With aftershocks of trembles, and a swollen face, she rested there silently. Unmoving, she allowed his forehead against her crown, her face hidden by her hair.

Time passed, so much time. Finally, she moved, however slightly. With a small gesture, she reached to rest her hand along his upper arm, gripping it gently.

He was taken out of their moment by this, and glanced to her hand, slowly removing his head from hers.

She didn't look up yet, but sniffled. "I'm okay…" She spoke hoarsely.

He tried to catch a glimpse of her face, to no avail. "I can see that, good. You did good." He patted her shoulders, almost as if she were a Quidditch mate. "Good!" He inhaled deeply, leaning away from her suddenly and onto his rear. She peered up at him through her hair to see him crack open his flask and take several long, deep drinks.

With a slight wince, he stared up at the ceiling for yet another long moment.

"I almost died, ya know." Malfoy suddenly spouted.

She frowned, confused. "What?" She muttered.

"Last summer, I almost died. It felt like… my heart was being ripped out by hand." He chuckled, but his face retained a look of abject horror, his thousand-yard stare pulling her in.

"Aunt Bellatrix—whom you have met—she felt that I wasn't doing well enough for her Lord, and decided to teach me a lesson." He gnawed his bottom lip, blood pooling just beneath the thin skin. "She found a way to curse me so that it felt like I was dying. Hell, for all I know I was, she enjoyed testing her curses out without much research." He seemed to ramble a bit, taking a few more swigs of the flask.

She began to pull her hair from her face, trying to see him more clearly. A look of concern was painted over with a veneer of fascination. "What… was it?" Was all she could ask.

He glanced her way, but couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye, not in this state.

He blinked hard, swallowing. "She called it The Great Panic," he smirked, and shook his head soon after. "Trouble is that it lingers." He finally looked her way for longer than a moment. "She tested it out on you, too."

Her brows raised in surprise. She knew of the cursed blade which branded her 'mudblood' for life, but couldn't recall this curse. "I don't…"

He leaned forward on his knees, looking lanky as ever. "Yes, well, you wouldn't. You passed out when she tried it out on you. I'll admit, you lasted longer than I did, but… well, it lingers." He finally leaned forward to offer the flask to her.

Curiously, she took it, but didn't drink. "What do you mean?" She nearly insisted.

"I have the same… attacks that you do—that you just did. This," he pointed to the flask "helps…"

She sniffed its contents and took a small swig. She winced, coughing slightly.

"I don't know… what's happening anymore." She admitted, handing the flask back. She made to stand slowly. He followed suit quickly, worried she'd fall—but she stood fine.

"I just thought, someone was coming after me, and I could only remember that you were the last one in here. I thought… I'm sorry, I just thought—" She trailed off, gathering her things.

He held up a hand, dismissing the worry. "I get it. I was once triggered by an old crone cackling at the pub. I can't seem to predict these things either."

There was an odd air of solidarity now, and this unnerved Hermione greatly. However, she was emotionally drained, and restless with this new information.

"Maybe there's a cure." She offered as they idly began to walk out of the library together.

"Well, you've tried my cure, any better?" He replied, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they ambled through the corridors.

"I can't exactly tell… I feel tense still, but—I don't think I've ever had one, actually, none that I remember." She stopped a moment, turning to him. Her face had relaxed slightly, but the way her brow furrowed suggested that she was wracking her brain to figure this out.

"Well, I'm glad you weren't alone during your first time." He noted. His face contorted from serious to embarrassed, and he turned heel to look away from her, hoping she didn't notice his odd choice of words.

She noticed a slight crimson hue over his features, and began walking with him again, amidst the confusion.

"Was your first time, alone?" She tugged her robes about her form.

"Heh… my first time… Well, I remember waking up in my room, at school. It was last year, about this time." He felt his mouth growing dry, and attempted to wet his lips. "There was just—everything was cursed. Everything in my room was marred by Him… and the weight of everything was falling all around me. I had a dream just before waking up to that attack, but I can't—the feeling is solid in my memory, but the content, not so much."

They had walked for a while now, and he had been rambling for even longer. He seemed to stop speaking abruptly, and she noticed.

"It's okay. I can't imagine." She went quiet, realizing that she wasn't sure where they were walking.

"No, you can… You're probably the only other person who can, really." He assured, bringing his fingers through his hair. It was dawning on him that he was having this conversation with none other than Granger. He turned to her, as if to speak, but noticed she seemed lost.

"What's wrong?" He asked, looking around.

"I just, where are we going? I should get back to my dorm." She was nodding, brow pinching tightly.

He nodded in return, watching her carefully, "I agree… We shouldn't be caught out like this."

She looked up at him, tilting her head as her eyes squinted slightly. "What?"

He looked equally confused now, "'What' what?"

With a huff, she crossed her arms. "Are you trying to go back to my room with me?" She whispered, incredulous.

His eyes widened and he took a small step back, "woah, now I didn't mean that at all. We both need to go back to our rooms… plural. With an 's'." He spoke simply, and seriously, but the manner in which he reiterated made her smile—she was obviously stifling a laugh.

"What now?" He tossed his hands up slightly, at a loss.

"Nothing… heh, you're just—funny, I guess." She looked away, her face obviously contorting in calling her ex-nemesis 'funny'. She began walking again.

He followed suit. "Well, thanks Hermione, I guess it's not exactly a compliment, but I'll take it." He inflated slightly, nodding. The tipsy Malfoy was verging on drunk at this point.

Time passed, and there was silence, along with a few chuckles between the two as they caught each other's eye. Soon she decided to toy with him. After a bit of a long trek, she had lured him around in a circle.

"So, I didn't ask, but why were you in the library?" She asked, taking a new turn and up some stairs. The stairs began shifting as he spoke.

"Well, I CAN read, you know. So I thought I'd do some of that. Reading that is. And you—wait, nevermind, you were reading." He looked at a loss once more, looking down at his nail beds as if he hated everything he was saying.

She smirked again, trying not to laugh. She glanced about, noticing that the staircases were shifting them toward an abandoned tower, derelict from the war. She decided to follow this new path.

"I suppose you can, Draco—read that is." She nodded, as if sizing him up again, giving him a sideways glance. "But how many pictures were in the book, hmm?" She squinted, trying to hide her grin.

"Wow… Insensitive much? Why, imagine if an illiterate were to hear you making fun of—being illiterate. Tch. Not so high and noble after all, Hmm?" He felt off-guard. Something about their new interactions was firing him up in an unfamiliar way. He didn't want to fight, no… But this playful battle of the wits was something he'd always craved.

"Ohhh, I don't mean it like that. It's just… It was quite a small book…" She teased once more. He was, finally, nearly aghast. "And your tome had NO photos or illustrations? None!?" He nearly shouted.

Her eyes widened, and she shushed him, lest they be found after hours. To be safe, she took a nearby turn, leading them up the winding staircase to the half-crumbled minaret.

He whisper-shouted in her ear "I'll have you know that it was a classic… In Japanese, no less!"

"Are we boasting now, Draco?" She turned on her heel, one step above him, and peering eye-to-eye with the blond wizard. Her hands went, reflexively, to her hips. "Mine was in a dead language, you probably never heard of it," she challenged, rather adorably.

He shook his head, disbelieving. He didn't know what to say to that. He knew dead languages too, certainly. He probably had thousands in his library at home. What he didn't know how to respond to was her staring directly at him.

After their long walk of side-glances and teases, he hadn't really had a chance to look her in the face. However stressed her features were, now they glowed with a childish joy that he'd only ever seen in her interactions with Harry or Ron. He stood there far too long, staring over her features. Curious, how proximity can make a heart grow fonder.

"Well… so there." She finalized, turning from the powerful moment and briskly walked up the stairs. She noticed, however, that the landing of the tower was partially destroyed. Now it was merely a gaping hole, opened to the night sky. Stars went on much too far. She stared out almost longingly.

He came to stand beside her, taking another glance over her form, before wondering what she was staring at. "What do you see?"

She was taken out of the moment and looked his way briefly. "Nothing, it's just… all that. You know? All that space, and—and stars and space. And I sound like an idiot." She tore her gaze from his oblivious features and looked out into the sky again, arms crossing against the chill.

"Gods no…" She heard him say. She glanced up.

"You literally never sound stupid…" He insisted, turning to face her, the backdrop of stars accenting the flecks of bright grey in his eyes. There were aspects of his features that, until now, she dared not take in.

"What?" She asked, since she partially didn't really listen to him. She wished there were more places to stand, instead of this half-destroyed watch tower.

"Were you listening?" He squinted, seeing something in her eyes. He took a slight step forward, whether out of curiosity or magnetism, he didn't know.

"Yes, of course. I just—forgot what you said." Her arms crossed again as she avoided his eye briefly, only to be drawn in again for a bit of a staring match. She saw him begin to smirk, and her heart made itself known once more.

"I said you never—never sound stupid." He assured her, hands in his pockets, yet leaning toward her in an almost domineering way.

"Well—I've done plenty of stupid things." She added, challenging him slightly with her tone. He smiled broadly.

"Like what?" He asked, hands coming out of his pockets as he offered her the flask again. She took it, watching him, as if he suddenly had an ulterior motive.

"Well," she took a swig, "I've broken some rules; that's stupid. I've come back to a school where nobody left really knows me; that's idiotic. And tonight I've—"

He almost glared at her, but his look softened as he retrieved the flask, intentionally brushing fingers with her. "Tonight is… stupid?" He offered, taking a swig.

"Tonight is…" She had to take a deep breath, feeling her heartbeat getting away from her. "It's—" She noticed a fainting feeling and reflexively reached out for him, rather than fall from the tower in a panic-stricken fit.

He caught her, tugging her close with a gasp. "Shit! Are you okay? Come here," he lead her down a few steps, a safe distance from the ledge.

Gaining a slight sense of grounding again, she found her fingertips against the back of his neck, having looped about it at some point during her moment of weakness. Their new proximity was breath-taking.

He was standing over her, one arm about her waist and the other over her shoulder and along her back, cradling her strongly still. Her elbows were a bit trapped between their chests, but their noses were nearly touching. A heady sensation came over her. She didn't have a place to look that didn't seem avoidant, and so she shut her eyes. "Thanks."

He rubbed his hands along her back in a comforting manner, before looking down over her features and finding her bashful aversion oddly appealing. He took his tongue between his teeth, biting it slightly. "No problem," and he saw her eyes shutting. Now? Here? Was she really giving him the go ahead?

From their tangled position, he began to lean forward, brushing the tip of his nose along the side of hers. There was a slight gasp on her end, and her eyes shot open. His lids were heavy, but open enough to see her shock. With sudden disgust, he uncurled from holding her, stepping several steps down and gripping a handful of hair.

There was no apology or cursing, and he didn't leave. She stood there, confused as ever.

"What was that?" She finally asked, taking a step down toward him.

"THAT was-," he lowered his voice, his self-deprecating tone. "That was the epitome of stupid, for the sake of example." He nodded, pointing at her as if it was his plan all along.

Her heady feeling was lingering, but the further he stepped away, the weaker it got. She took another step closer, eye-to-eye with him again. "So you just… wanted to one-up me, then?"

With a bit of a double take, he shrugged, noting as she got closer. "Sure, because I stand by what I said, you, Granger, are not stupid."

She realized then, one of the key differences tonight, was that they were on first-name basis suddenly, until now. "And, Malfoy, what am I?"

He noted the tone, and it things began to click with him as well. Through squinted eyes, he replied: "You're smart, of course."

"Go on," her face relaxed into a slight smile, her eyes wandering his clothing slightly, before reaching out and toying with his vest momentarily.

"Brilliant, really. And" he had to gulp, wondering what she was playing at, "insufferable all the same."

Her eyes raise to his, but only just. She saw his expression go from confused and stoic, to lips parting and eyes hooded. "Why didn't you kiss me?"

"What?" he asked.

"Just then… Why—" She was cut off by a nervous chuckle.

"I wasn't actually going to." He insisted, yet unable to pull from her wanton gaze.

She relinquished first, rather abruptly. "Oh."

"Oh?"

"Yea, I thought you wanted to." She added, staring at his chest and buttoning a couple of his vest buttons idly.

"I mean, I didn't not want to." He sputtered.

She looked up in time to see his pained expression, one of embarrassment.

"You're weird, Draco." She stated finally. While there was a slight look of hurt in her eyes, there was also an overwhelming emotion he couldn't place. Something akin to when a boy first discovers the destructive power of a firecracker—ruining his favorite toy; she may have wanted the kiss, but even without it, she was still enticed.

He fought an inner battle then. With his own inhibitions lowered, he began making his frustrations known with interesting expressions. At one point he even found his tongue darting up to rest on his upper lip in contemplation. Against some more carnal wishes, he went with his better judgement, and turned away from her. "We should get you back to your room."

They began their walk again, only a small detour from her head's dorm. "Again, you seem to think I'll just let you into my dorm, Draco." She teased.

He sighed, shaking his head. "I may be 'weird', as you say—but I'm a gentleman. I'm not going to be going into any lady's dorm without an invitation." He seemed to want to hurry, taking long strides in front of her so that he may drop her off swiftly.

"Tch… tipsy Draco is a touchy Draco." She chided from behind. They both finally made it to the painting before her dorm.

He faced her once more, with finality. "And this tipsy Draco needs to lay down soon." He smiled tightly, foot tapping a bit. His head reeled a bit at the tone she kept putting behind saying his name.

"But you never asked me." She insisted.

"Asked you what?"

"You know… if I wanted you to." Her arms crossed.

"If—if you wanted me to what? Spit it out!" His cheeks flared a bit reddish, though his eyes held an intriguing tenderness.

"If I wanted you to kiss me." She nearly pouted, but unintentionally.

Startled, he chuckled, giving a half smile—half turning to leave her at her door, this teasing witch. But, then, there was something in her eyes that suggested it wasn't merely a tease.

"Did you… Want me to?" He asked in a hushed manner, leaning toward her a bit.

Just then there was a groaning yawn from a nearby corridor. In a flash, Hermione whispered her password, opened the frame, and dragged Draco with her.

The painting shut, and they stood in the dim-lit foyer of the dorm. He panted a little, startled by the speed of her movements.

"Damn, Granger—"

"Hermione… Call me Hermione, Draco." She smiled up to him, offering a hand for a good old-fashioned shake, as if they were meeting for the first time. She seemed interested in shedding their murky pasts.

He took her hand gingerly, lifting it, with effort, to his lips for a kiss.

She nearly yanked her hand away, not wanting him to do such a thing—but thought better of it, and left him with her fingertips to kiss.

A devilish look crossed his features, and he stood upright again.

"So, Hermione—it seems that it was you who that wanted me in your dorm."

She paled a bit, looking around. At first, she was more that fine with him in here—then she realized that they still might be caught. A sound from the kitchen alerted her, and she quickly shoved him up stairs to her room. With a harsh shove into her room, she shut the door. He was left in there alone as she talked to her fellow head.

Nearly falling into the room on his arse, he righted himself—reaching to fix a tie which was no longer around his neck. With a bit of a curious bug, he started peeking around the room at her belongings.

First thing he noticed was that she had nearly as many books as he did. The second thing was that she was a total slob. Her clothes were strewn here and there. Books upon books and shoes tossed about; it was a wonder there was even a bed in here at all.

He stopped mid-thought—how did he end up in Hermione's bedroom?

Replaying the events of the night, he realized that she might be in want of some company after her traumatic experience. Or, maybe she's drunk. He began to pace.

There was a chance that she wanted him there for 'other' reasons. His heart started to pound rather menacingly. He attempted to catch his breathing preemptively. Another swig, deep breathing. He'd been in plenty a girls' bedroom-and snogged the lot of them.

His 'sex god' status ended there, though. As he'd grown up, things got darker and his trust grew weaker. No matter how fair the opposite sex was, he hadn't the courage to get very far with any.

He dashed these thoughts from his mind. She merely wanted to keep him from getting in trouble. 'She's just hiding you', he thought.

He was content with this thought and stopped pacing just in time for her to open the door.

Back against the door, she looked as though she had been winded from an intensive conversation. "Sorry… Neville is a bit of a night owl."

Taking a calming breath, she came to look at him, and smiled awkwardly. Her eyes began to wander the room and she started grimacing. Her eyes darted to him, as if to confirm that he'd seem her mess.

Instantly, she began tidying. "Sorry, I—never have people in here. Ever." She was kicking things under the bed, trying to pile clothing up in the bathroom, and stacking books higher than she was tall. This put a slight dent into the mess. At least she tried.

"Heh, don't worry, my room is similarly awful," he lied, "but it's pointless to keep a clean room when nobody wants to be entertained by a Death Eater," he pointed out.

"But—you have friends, Draco. You're always with Blaise and Theo," she commented, casually sitting on her bed.

"Well, yea. But best pals are used to the mess, you know?" He watched her expression change a bit.

"I suppose you're right…" She found her eyes wandering the mess. "It wasn't this bad last year."

He thought it might be best to change the topic and couldn't shake what she'd said outside. He waited a beat. "So, did you?"

She looked up, unsure. "Did I…"

He scoffed, a wave of frustration crashing over him "Don't play coy, please! Did you or did you not want me to kiss you in the tower?!" He forced, noticing his tone, and breathed out, softening, "did you…?"

She was a bit startled by the sudden impassioned question. Unsure of herself suddenly, all cockiness replaced by a coy demeanor, she looked down at her shoes. "I guess, I didn't not want you to?"

His heart was racing. He knew it, she had brought him up with racy intentions in mind. With his voice caught in his throat, he grit his teeth. The thumping of his heart was starting to scare him. When it dawned upon him that an attack was coming on, he swore under his breath and kicked a nearby shoe. She watched curiously as he went for his flask, only to find it empty.

"It's okay, I mean… You still can." She offered, rather sweetly. Standing up as he turned away, she came toward him.

He shook his head, feeling his face growing beet-red as he attempted to stifle the onslaught of emotions, mainly fear, bursting within him. He let out an involuntary sob, covering his betraying mouth.

"Draco…" She came to face him, but he wouldn't allow it. He stepped away from her each time, until he was nearly flush with the window, looking out for some form of distraction.

"Draco!" She insisted, gripping his arm for him to look at her. With another shake of his head, he finally choked out "P-panic…" as his hands came to cover his eyes.

As she finally managed to jerk him around to face her, all she saw was his red face, half-obscured by his hands as they covered his wet eyes. His teeth gritted, lips pulled back in a heart-wrenching sob. His breathing caused bits of spit to pop through his grit teeth.

Suddenly aware of the gravity of the situation, she held fast to his shoulders, and slowly moved him to sit in a nearby chair, atop a few books and pants.

"Shit, Draco… Draco breathe, okay? It's okay, I'm… it's okay." She retrieved a handkerchief with delicate stitching. After taking it, he cowered his head forward, face obscured by his bits of hair now.

His entire form was heaving from the attack, still wrecking him.

In front of him, she was silent, save for the exaggerated, deep and slow breathing that she was doing. He heard her adjust some, until she was kneeling in front of him. Her hands rested on his shoulders, holding them firmly. "In and out, right? Deep breaths…" She whispered, bumping the crowns of their heads together firmly, holding there.

His breath caught the tempo of her own, and he began to follow suit. While things calmed, he gathered himself, clearing his nose as only a true aristocrat would—discreetly.

As his trembling stopped, he suddenly leaned back in the chair kicking his head back and taking a deep breath in. His vanity was getting the best of him, and he was wishing his face hadn't looked so horrible. He debated a glamour charm, but before he could, he glanced her way. She was a bit of a mess too. She wasn't having an attack, but there were fresh tears along her face.

She looked up at him eagerly, compassionately, and a hint of something else. His head felt floaty, his attempt at a stoic expression betraying him as he spoke, "I did."

A brow raised. "What—"

"You know what." He leaned forward until their foreheads touched, his eyes shutting.

"I did want to kiss you, but—" he trailed off.

She pressed her forehead into his own, "I wish you had," she added.

They opened their eyes, lashes nearly brushing. "There's nothing stopping us now," he searched her features.

"My room is just such a mes—" she mentioned, nearly turning away—nearly breaking their contact. In a swift movement, he grasped her damp cheeks, slid from the cluttered chair, and knelt in turn with her on the floor. All the while, their lips met gently.

As their noses nestled against one another, their lips melted into a warm hum. The tips of his thumbs grazed the area under her eyes, while his remaining fingertips teased along her hairline.

Her hands landed on his wrists, as if to halt him.

He froze under the slight pressure, nearly pulling away. Then he felt the gentle squeeze on his wrists, coupled with the effort of her pressing into this kiss.

At first, they merely took turns pressing into the soft kiss, but it didn't take long before this 'sex god' showed off his abilities.

Tilting his head slightly more, he pressed deeper in the kiss. The angle of this ministration caused their jaws to part, and finally their lips. Her tongue darted out first, but his swung the final blow.

She pulled away suddenly, but only slightly. Her hands readjusted up along his arms, and they made eye contact for just long enough to double-down on the sudden desire they both felt.

In the second bout of kissing, there were quite a few gasps from either side. A nibble from him elicited a reactionary lick from her. Before long, she was inching closer to him, their kneeling thighs sliding into one another like puzzle pieces.

A heavy session of snogging was in high gear, until it began to shift suddenly once his knee held the full weight of her hips. The reality of the situation started sinking in once he nudged his knee slightly into her groin.

The kiss broke and they took the time to catch their breath. He took this time to enjoy the feel of her heat against his thigh, his knee hidden beneath her skirt.

"Malf—Draco… I didn't mean for this to get so… heated." She kissed him briefly along his jawline before nuzzling her nose into his again.

He gulped, adoring her sweet kisses, and noticing quickly that she was trembling slightly. His arms went to her waist in a fuller embrace. "And neither did I, and here we are, Hermione…"

His slight adjustment forced her to grind into his knee slightly, eliciting a new, pleased moan. Embarrassed, she cupped a hand over her mouth.

This sent him reeling, seeing her moaning from something he'd done. He leaned to kiss her cheeks, and along her ears. "I'm really glad this is so… heated." He teased, bumping his knee upward against her 'heat'. Once again, she moaned out, head tossing back in time for him to begin kissing along her neck and throat.

Time went on, and both parties seemed to be waiting for the other to make the next move.

Hermione caught on first, and she pulled from another long embrace. "So… what now?" She asked, lips bright pink from their snogging.

He smiled, wriggling his eyebrows in that all-too-familiar way. "What would you like, Hermione…" He seemed eager to get back to kissing her. She pressed her finger to his lips, though- and slowly stood. Without pointing it out, he did notice that there was a damp spot on his knee by now. He stood as well, hands roaming her skirt and waist. He craned in for another eager kiss.

"Should we…" She nodded to the bed, only half-covered in books. He nodded, guiding her backwards to the bed.

As she lay backward, he took off his vest, and started unbuttoning his shirt. The heat of the moment was getting the better of him, and all vanity was stripped away as he revealed his scarred torso.

She was peeling her sweater off over her head, just in time to see his bare chest. A myriad of emotions washed over her features, and she caught him watching her. His demeanor changed to one of shame. He looked away, but didn't move from hovering over her. She leaned up, planting a trail of kisses along a long, bold scar across his neck and chest.

He let out a gasp, this touch so ginger and sensual. His arms went to either side of her as she continued on. "H-hermione…" He let out hoarsely, eyes shutting. She shushed him, and pushed him to lay on his back, rolling to straddle him. His hands instinctively went to her hips, before snaking up under her skirt to grip her thighs.

She never stopped kissing along his chest. The sweet gestures began to turn more carnal, as the kisses turned into licks. Long licks dragged along his scars.

He couldn't contain the deep moans anymore, the sensations she provided being a mixture of both sensual and tickling.

She sat up, tugging off her tank top and exposing her cream-colored bra.

She looked down over him, taking a rather deep breath. She seemed nervous suddenly. He sat up toward her, halting her hands as they were about to release her bra. "You know… This is really good too… Just this." He swallowed, revealing his own apparent nerves.

"You… are you new to this too?" She muttered, a bit surprised.

He lay back again, giving a shrug as he looked up at her, not letting her pluck those nerves. She put a hand over her heart for a moment, taking a few long, deep breaths in as the moment seemed to begin slipping away from them.

The heat threatened to cool—which would just leave them wet, bothered, and ontop of one another.

The panic started to build, apparent in her features. He sat up quickly, holding her up and staring into her eyes. "Hermione, it's okay… in and out, slowly…" He nodded, and they began to breathe in sync once again. With a small chuckle, she leaned down, kissing him once more—long and slow. Something about the rhythm he insisted upon mingled with the kiss.

They breathed into one another, tongues dancing the same rhythm. Soon he was pinned down beneath her, and her bra was off. The sudden sensation of her bare breasts against his scarred chest sent him throbbing beneath her.

Feeling him buck upward slightly, she broke the kiss, smirking coyly down to him. Something in his expression stopped her, though. "Are you okay…?" He nodded, but nerves started eating away, he had to come out with it, "I've never, been this far," He admitted, cringing at himself.

She smiled, and began gnawing her bottom lip, "same."

He stared up, searching her expression for yet another tease, but there was none. His panic quelled, he leaned up to kiss her once more, tangling his hand in her hair while rolling to be ontop of her.

The kiss broke, and there was a frenzy of shoes and pants before the pair of them were in boxers and panties and socks. Those awkward socks. They paid no mind, though, while Draco came to rest ontop of her, kissing slow and long. It occurred to Hermione that he might have a certain love of kissing.

Before she could mull that thought over much longer, she felt his hand gently brushing over her breasts. He seemed exploratory. His fingers found her breasts soft and molded his fingers into the flesh. As her nipples peaked, he obsessed over them, gently flicking a thumb along the nub repeatedly.

He broke to kiss and gazed down her form hungrily, free hand wandering along her ribs and resting on her hip. With another brief kiss, he toyed with her panties, glancing her way. She took the hint and lifted herself, shimmying out of them. He followed suit, allowing a new player to bob into view. She couldn't help but chuckle, embarrassed, watching him eye her naked form.

He grinned widely, kissing her once more while his hand slid between her thighs. The kisses went into a bit of auto-pilot as she focused on his touch, and he focused on doing the touching. Before long he had to break the kiss to focus more clearly. He looked down, attempting to find the best access to her.

In an effort to help, she spread her thighs. From there it was all too easy for him to slip his fingers along the parting flesh, and against her dangerously slick center. From top to bottom, he felt about, watching her expressions as he moved along.

He must have found a special spot, because she was gasping each time he slipped along that bump. Savoring her reactions, he explored more, finding the source of all her tension, he slipped a finger in just slightly. She groaned out, enjoying the feeling of his slim finger toying with the spots she could barely reach on her own.

After only a moment or two, he felt her hand grasp his own tension. He choked out, leaning forward into her grasp and trying to maintain his composure.

She clumsily stroked him, admittedly intimidated by the size—admittedly enticed.

Once she noticed his fingers stopped, she slipped her hand from him, trying to pull his attention to focus on her face. In her expression, she wanted to ask without words.

He hovered over her, adjusting slightly. She adjusted as well, legs resting on his hips from below.

The air was heavy, and the mood felt fragile, as if any sound might shatter their precariously-perched coupling. He raised his eyebrows, nodding in question.

She took her bottom lip between her lips, nodding in answer.

Uncertainly, and nervous as hell, he gripped himself, attempting to line up with her. Finding it a bit difficult, he began to panic slightly.

Sensing this, she rested a hand on his cheek, and the other over his guiding hand. They met eyes, as they both attempted to feel the position out. At once, she felt he was poised, and removed her hand. He removed his own, daring not to move lest he disrupt the alignment—planetary or otherwise.

All he had to do was press forward, right? So he did. Moisture be damned, he slipped, and the tip of him dragged up along her sweet nub, eliciting a surprised and pleased moan.

He cursed under his breath, growing redder in the cheeks. He knew where to poise himself though and couldn't stand needing her help a second time. He positioned again, haphazardly dragging himself along that nub twice more. She let out some pleasant moans. He wanted to test something and watched her expression as he intentionally dragged his tip along that nub a bit more.

She widened her eyes at him, gasping at his teasing. Her fingernails started digging into the sheets, breasts rising from her hitched breathing. He felt himself swell, enjoying that he could pull such sounds from her. A bit more cock-sure now, he aligned himself again. Before she could fully catch her breath, she felt the pressure of him. Her hips arched, as if it might ease the sudden tension of him attempting to drive deeper.

As if by instinct, he decided to use his tip to grind deeper bit by bit. Afraid of hurting her, or ruining the mood, he tried to feel it out. This seemed to please her, since she was grinding back.

They caught eyes, smiling through heavy lids. It wasn't long before his cleft slipped deeper with some effort. She gasped out of surprise and a pinch of pain, eyes shutting as he pressed until their hips met.

The effort of that alone had the both of them winded, but it was the grip about his shaft that sent him throbbing again. Hovering over her, arms cradling her head sweetly, he kissed up and along her jawline, eyes meeting for some confirmation of mutual pleasure.

She nodded, dragging her fingernails along his sides slowly. There was a slight chuckle on her part at his apprehension. "In…in and out, right?" She cooed into his ear.

A bit embarrassed, yet terrible aroused, he nodded, pressing even deeper before pulling out slowly. She gripped him in a way that made it harder—made him harder.

He rested a hand on her hip, gripping it as he made for a second thrust. His throat betrayed him as he gasped out, the feeling truly intense.

On her part, she adjusted her hips in a manner which allowed her to press back into him. In fact, her movements suggested he might be going too slow.

He chuckled, feeling her writhe beneath him, and took a cocky liberty—thrusting deeply.

Moaning lowly, she wrapped an arm around his neck. He delivered a second deep movement, adoring her expression, veering on tortured.

Through hooded lids, they nearly glared at each other, smirking all the while. In unison, they met for a kiss, deep and sloppy.

In return, his hips began to loosen, thrusts becoming faster and deeper. It wasn't long before he felt himself toppling closer to the edge. Her moans, almost screaming out, forcing a lust-filled rhythm into his movements.

He tensed, gasping out and moaning into her hair. "F—F-Hermoine, I can't stop…" He insisted, suddenly plowing deeper and harder for a handful of thrusts. He stopped, rigid and trembling, before collapsing ontop of her.

As he caught his breath, she continued to grind against him, eliciting pained moans from his end. He pulled out of her, panting.

Before he could fully regain himself, she was kissing him again, and he followed suit. It was apparent that she was all worked up by now.

In an effort to help, he rolled ontop of her again, but positioned in such a way that allowed him access to both that magic nub and her warm depths.

As he cooled off, he could watch her writhe some more under his attentions. Soon she was grinding into his hand, while he began focusing different kinds of motions along that button of hers.

While his breathing normalized, hers hitched, as a cascade of emotions and sensations came to a peak.

He felt her orgasm, enthralled by the entire event. He slowed his motions, and slowly came to lay beside her, kissing her along the jawline.

"Just breathe, Hermione…" He cooed, her breathing still erratic from their romp.

"Heh… In and out…" she added as their eyes shut for a hard sleep.


End file.
